A Deal With The Devil
by sunshyndaisies
Summary: A prequel to KotD: When Snape offers Ron the chance to destroy Voldemort once and for all, will he risk his career, his marriage, and his life to take it? (R/H) Please r/r, thanks!
1. Chapter 1: All Things Sacred

_ Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I attempting to make a profit. This is all for pure entertainment's sake! Hope you enjoy! _

Author's note: I'm an addict, I admit. Full-blown. I can't seem to go a few days without working on some kind of fic! Actually, truth be told, I've had this fic in my head for quite a while now, but I'd been waiting until I finished THoT before I attempted it. 

So anyway, here it is... One note: for those of you who have not read KotD, but plan to, please do so before reading this fic. The next chapter (and the rest of them after that) will spoil the major plot twists of KotD. If, however, you don't want to read KotD ever, then go ahead and read this fic, if you'd like :).

  


** A Deal With The Devil  
Chapter 1: All Things Sacred**

It wasn't often that Ron woke before Hermione did. In fact, he could think of only a handful of occasions in which he had been roused from sleep by something other than her breath tickling his face, or her soft morning voice, still deliciously husky from slumber, murmuring his name as he slowly came out of some dream he'd forget soon enough. Sometimes, if he was in a really deep sleep, she would even brush her fingers up and down his bare arm, over and over again until she got a reaction from him, then later feign innocence when he finally did open his eyes to protest. Her guilty grin gave her away each and every time, though. He loved that grin. 

Hermione liked to joke that he could sleep through a Hippogriff stampede; he reckoned she was right. But occasionally even the slightest flutter from her side of the bed would be enough to wake him, and it was always during those certain troubled nights--the ones that blended into morning, when darkness was not quite darkness anymore, but light had not fully emerged in its place yet, either. 

Those were the times when whatever happened to be troubling him weighed heavily on his mind, the force of its gravity sometimes far too strong for even a stubborn git like him to fight against. 

This was one of those times. 

He had woken for the last time sometime before five o'clock, when that streak of charcoal across the sky was just beginning to lighten to a dull, gloomy grey. The curtains flapped against the slight breeze; they'd left the window propped open last night to fight the almost stifling heat. It was never this hot in early June. 

Last night he had tossed and turned more times than he could count, muttering like a madman how utterly miserable this weather was. But he knew perfectly well even then that whatever this was that was keeping him up had nothing to do with the weather. 

It was because of what awaited him when morning finally came. 

This morning he was the one running his fingers up and down Hermione's arm, and when that failed to wake her, he began tracing letters on her back, right between her shoulder blades, where he knew she was most sensitive and gave out the most delightful of tremors. He managed to get to the second 'o' in "good morning" before she stirred at last. 

"Mmm..." 

It was more of a moan than a spoken word, the kind of moan she let out whenever they were just starting to make love and she wanted to voice her approval. She turned to face him, eyes still closed at first, then fluttering open when she gave him a lazy smile. She pulled on his chin with an index finger to tease him with a hint of a kiss. 

"Good morning to you too, my love," she said into his mouth. 

"_My love_?" He balanced himself on a elbow to hover over her, then let his hand slide down the side of her body, smiling at the slight shudder she gave as his hand glided over her skin. "I rather like that." 

"Do you?" 

"Very much so, yes." 

She smiled again, only this time with just a hint of mischief that he swore could have come about only because of his bad influence over the years. 

"Good," she said. "I'll have to remember that one, then." 

"Oh, not to worry," he said, bending down to trace the contours of her collarbone with his lips, following its delicate line until he came to the base of her throat. "I'll be sure to remind you often." 

She let out a sound that was halfway between a breath and a gasp--he thought he would actually die from hearing it--then it seemed she couldn't take much more of this sweet torture either, because she gently tugged at him and guided him back to her mouth. 

But there was a sadness to her kiss. He noticed it straight away and almost said something, then came to realise it would probably be best to leave it to her to bring up. He heard her sigh, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw that she wasn't looking at him, but rather off into the distance, somewhere outside the open window where the sun was finally emerging from the thicket of clouds. He noticed she was stroking his arm, in that way she always did whenever she was troubled, and he tilted her chin up to force her to look him in the eyes. 

"Why the long face?" 

It was a silly question; he knew exactly why. But he had hoped he could at least try and cheer her up by making her smile. 

"I hate it when you have to leave," she said softly. The words were infused with her own brand of quiet strength, but he knew full well how much it took for her to voice them. 

He took the hand that was caressing his arm and put it to his lips. 

"I know, love," he said. "I hate it too. I hate the thought of leaving you in this big, warm, comfortable bed when I could stay here and be cuddling up to this beautiful body-" 

"Ron..." 

She slid up to sitting but didn't pull away from him completely. After a while, she drew her knees to her chest, then rested her cheek on her knees and looked at him. 

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm being childish about this, I know. You'd think after five years I'd be used to you going away like this all the time." 

He took her hand again and laced his fingers with hers. 

"If you ever do get used to it," he said, "I think it might frighten me, to be honest." 

He managed to get a smile out of her this time, but he knew underneath it there were still lingering doubts and fears that were very real and deeply rooted. 

"I'll be careful." 

"You'd better." 

He laughed. "Or you'll have something to say about it." 

"Exactly." 

She placed her hand on top of his and gave it a squeeze, as if to let him know she would be all right. He never doubted she would be, somehow. She was strong, his wife. Sometimes he even thought she had enough strength for the both of them. 

"We still haven't decided what to get Emily for her christening," she said. Ron was a bit startled by the abrupt change of subject, but didn't really mind all that much. "It's next month. Don't you think we ought to agree on something soon?" 

He groaned and collapsed back onto the bed. 

"You know that's not my forte," he said. "I'll go along with whatever you decide." 

"What do you mean it's not your forte? You've got _loads_ of nieces and nephews-" 

"_Four,_" he said. "That's hardly what I would call _loads._" 

She rolled her eyes. "All right, _four,_ then. That's four more than I've got, and you can't fool me, Ron Weasley. You're a natural with children. We're getting this gift together, and that's that." 

At times such as these, he knew it would simply be easier to concede. 

"Yes, mum." 

Her jaw dropped in indignation, but she recovered quite quickly with a dangerously cool smile. 

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," she said warningly. "And you most certainly were not calling me_ mum _ last night." 

He laughed and pulled her back down onto the bed, easily gathering her into him. 

"Oh yes, now I remember..." 

He kissed her longer this time than he normally would. Part of him wanted to savor as much of this moment as possible, or at least make it last as long as he possibly could. This had become habit for him since he'd become an Auror; he never took anything for granted anymore. 

"Can you believe Harry's got a kid?" he said. "Or Ginny, for that matter. My baby sister with her own child..." 

"And they seem to be really happy, too. I don't think I've ever seen either of them look this happy." 

"Or deathly tired." 

She giggled. 

"Yes, I suppose there's that, too," she said. "But they really do seem overjoyed, don't they?" 

"Mmm. Very." He looked down at her and smiled. "When did we all get so grown up?" 

She started to answer him with a kiss, but the clock on the bedside table happened to pick that very moment to sound its alarm--rather obnoxiously, Ron noted with mild annoyance. He felt Hermione give him an involuntary squeeze as if to resist letting him go, but he gently patted her arm and rolled her onto her back. 

"I've got to go," he said softly. 

She merely nodded, giving him no words of protest nor agreement, then reached over to fetch his clothes, which he'd slung over the bed railing late last night. Hermione had told him that doing so would shave off a few precious minutes in getting ready this morning; now he wished he could get those minutes back. 

Not too long after, she shrugged out of his arms to go downstairs and leave him alone to get dressed. She wanted to make breakfast, she told him, but he knew better. He knew she just didn't want to have to watch him getting ready to leave her yet again. And in truth, he didn't want her to have to watch him leaving either. 

It would just make everything that much harder, though they'd already been through this routine hundreds of times. 

She was still in the middle of cooking when he came down into the kitchen. He knew she had heard him come in, but she hadn't turned to face him, so instead he came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. 

"I can't stay for this, love." 

"I know," she said quietly. 

He waited for her to turn around and eventually she did, leaning back against the counter, into his clasped hands. 

"I hate this part." 

"Me too." 

He brought his hands up to brush the hair out of her eyes, then cupped her face. 

"Don't buy Emily's gift without me." 

She burst out laughing, the last thing had probably wanted to do at this moment, but simply couldn't help. 

"Go on, then," she said. "I'll have a surprise for you when you get back." 

"What kind of surprise?" 

"You'll see. There's something I've been wanting to talk to you about. We'll do it when you get back." She trailed a finger down his jaw line. "So you'd better get back soon." 

"Mmm, just for that, I will," he said, grinning, then he touched his forehead to hers. "I'll owl you as soon as it's safe." 

She was quiet for a long time, then she said, "Be careful." 

"Always." 

He kissed her before he lost the nerve, then smiled at her, taking one last good look before apparating. This was the image he would be taking with him. 

* * *

By eight-thirty, the sun had fully announced its presence, and burned away the clouds that had been hovering since just after dawn. The unfathomable heat was back, shockingly even more unbearable here than it had been at home last night, which Ron didn't think could actually be possible. For a few moments he wondered whether that Global Heating (or was it Global Warming?) thing that Hermione had once spent an entire Saturday afternoon meticulously explaining to him really was something to worry about after all. 

Bloody hell, it really was atrociously hot. He clawed at his collar, where his robes were fastened. The clasp seemed to be getting tighter with each second that passed; he was practically choking at this point. Of all the days to have to wear a robe. Normally he wouldn't be caught dead wearing them (he'd had enough of the damn things in school, thanks), but in times such as these he needed to be especially inconspicuous, and Sylvan Wentworth had given him specific instructions to wear his plain black robes--and keep his hood up to hide his face and that tell-tale shock of ginger hair, for good measure. 

Ron never thought the day would come when enough people would actually know what he looked like that he would be forced to disguise himself just to do his job. Funny how life worked out. For as long as he could remember, he had longed to be in the spotlight right along with his brothers, and now after five years of being the most highly-profiled Auror in the Ministry, he found himself actually wishing for those days of obscurity again, when being the faithful sidekick of the Boy-Who-Lived was reason enough for small-time notoriety. 

Wentworth was late. 

He'd told Ron to be ready here at the rendezvous point at eight-fifteen exactly, but he was nowhere in sight, and Ron didn't even know where _here_ was. It was some tiny coastal village near Liverpool--he couldn't even remember what it was called right at that moment--populated by dilapidated cottages that lined the shore, whose exteriors had long since suffered under the elements and the salty sea-air. 

Ron reckoned it was mostly a Muggle village; he'd made sure to dress as appropriately as he could under his otherwise very conspicuous robes. He wondered why Wentworth would pick this of all places to give him his assignment, and it didn't look as if his answer would be coming any time soon. 

A small crack just behind him jolted him out of his thoughts, the sound of heavy feet balancing on the rocks that littered the ground. Ron spun around, one hand shoved into the inside pocket of his robes, ready to draw his wand, when he saw who it was. 

"At ease, Weasley." 

"Sir..." 

Ron let out a breath and let his hand down. 

"I'm sorry. I'm a bit on edge." 

Wentworth nodded solemnly. Ron wasn't used to seeing the normally jovial man so blank-faced; it was almost enough to unnerve him. 

"Has anyone seen you?" 

"No, sir. It's Sunday morning, I reckon most of them are having a bit of a lie-in." 

"Good." 

He wobbled across the rocks to come closer to Ron, and motioned for them to walk back even further, just beyond an especially large piece of rotting wood--large enough to obscure them somewhat--that looked to have been chopped and subsequently abandoned long ago. 

"Last night we got word that some activity had gone on here," Wentworth said. "The _Prophet_ hasn't found out about it yet, though I expect they will soon enough. It will be in tomorrow's edition for certain." 

"Activity?" Ron said. His stomach gave a lurch. He didn't like the sound of this, not one bit. 

"Several Muggles saw the Dark Mark in the sky." 

"Was anyone attacked?" 

"No," Wentworth said. "No, thankfully no one was attacked. But it's just a matter of time." 

Ron clenched his jaw and looked back at the row of cottages in the distance. 

"How many were there?" 

"We're not sure," Wentworth said. "Ten, fifteen, maybe. Only a few of the Muggles saw them gathering round right there by the shore. They disbanded rather quickly after that." 

He let out a laugh of disgust. 

"Just like the rats, they are. Scarpering away once you catch onto them." 

Ron absently watched the sun shower sparks of light onto the slowly-rolling waves of the sea. 

"It doesn't make sense," he said. 

"What do you mean?" 

"It doesn't make sense, sir," he said. "Why would they scarper away? They'd have no reason to. They have every advantage in the world. They're Dark Wizards. These are just powerless Muggles who'd have no hope of defending themselves against that kind of magic." 

Wentworth furrowed his brow. "They must not have felt very powerful last night, then. They scattered off almost as soon as one of the Muggles spotted them." 

None of this felt right, Ron thought. Nothing he had ever read or heard about the Death Eaters have given him any indication that they were anything but bold and savage, and though their attacks may have grown fewer in number over the last eight years since Voldemort's return, each strike had been deadly and memorable. 

He shuddered to think how bloody this one would be if they didn't find a way to prevent it. 

"They'll be back," Wentworth said soberly. "Last night was only a warning, we both know that. They'll be back again tonight, and they won't run off this time. I need you to make sure they don't get to any of these Muggles." 

Ron took a deep, but silent breath. There was no need to elaborate; he had not forgotten what had happened the last time the Death Eaters had struck. The death toll had been staggering, and they were left shell-shocked and shaken at having been too late to avert disaster. 

"Your back-up will be here by tonight. I've staggered their arrivals so they don't attract suspicion, but all of you must be on your guard, is that understood?" 

"Yes." 

Wentworth reached inside his robes and produced a small vial seconds later, then handed it to Ron. Polyjuice Potion. The last step before the gates would be thrown open and there would be no turning back. 

"This will last you twenty-four hours," Wentworth said. "If anything goes wrong and it wears off before you can finish this mission, apparate out of here, do you understand? They will come after you before they go for anyone else. Let the other Aurors take care of it, but do not let them see you." 

Ron was too numb to nod, but did so anyway, and without further hesitation, gulped down the nasty potion. He would have twenty-four hours. 

He couldn't wait for the bastards to show up now. 


	2. Chapter 2: Ambushed

_ Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I attempting to make a profit. This is all for pure entertainment's sake! Hope you enjoy! _

Author's note: extra special thanks go to Alcamenes and soupytwist, for not only getting back to me so quickly with this chapter, but their support and encouragement as well--not to mention, their talented editing. You girls have made yourselves absolutely indispensible, I tell you! :) 

This one's dark, folks. Don't say you weren't warned LOL. But fear not, lighter moments are coming up ahead (and believe me, if you're an R&H fan, there are some scenes in the near future you won't want to miss *heehee*). 

A big thank you to all my loyal reviewers! I was so psyched to see all the familiar names in the reviews the other day. You all make my world go round :).

  


** A Deal With The Devil  
Chapter 2: Ambush**

Ron didn't trust silence. 

Whether it was an instinct born of paranoia or one that had simply been honed from years of experience, he didn't know, but the absence of sound just made him uneasy. Very uneasy. He wasn't one to be lulled into a false sense of security; he'd been an Auror long enough to know better. There may have been those who easily fell prey to the belief that silence meant there couldn't possibly be any threat of danger lurking about, but Ron Weasley would be damned if he would let himself be one of them. 

Even when things were perfectly still, when the air was windless and it seemed the entire world had vanished or at least had stopped moving, there were always sounds that could be heard if one simply strained to listen for them. Seagulls taking flight, wings beating ferociously in the air. The crackling of pebbles on the shore as water bled onto land and then receded. The swelling and shrinking of the mighty sea. 

Ron reckoned that people had simply learnt over the years to tune out anything that was out of the ordinary; when he was younger, he had done exactly that. Looking back on it, he realised he had spent the first fifteen years of his life in somewhat blissful ignorance--sheltered by parents who'd done their best to shield their children from the dangers of the wizarding world, and later, strengthened by a false confidence that came from having managed to escape several ridiculously close calls and still come away in one piece each and every time. 

But the things he had seen and heard and lived had not come without a leaving their scars; somewhere along the way when he wasn't looking, they had taken their toll on him, and in time he found his defences steadily taking root. The older he became, the more he found himself becoming acutely aware of everything that surrounded him, even developing the ability to sense when danger was near. To almost hear it. 

It was quiet right now. Too quiet. Ron knew it couldn't possibly be real. 

In the distance, the waves continued to batter the shore, growing rougher as the night wore on and the moon beckoned the tides. Still, nothing materialised from the shadows, and it made Ron that much more anxious. Midnight had almost descended upon them, and the Muggles had all gone to bed at this late hour, their windows dark and cloaked with drawn curtains. 

This would be the perfect time to launch an unexpected attack. Defenceless Muggles, oblivious to the peril that awaited them just outside their homes, asleep and completely unaware that blood-thirsty Dark wizards were waiting to slaughter them. 

Ron knew with every fiber of his being that they would strike at any moment. They had to be ready. 

He felt a tap on the shoulder and flinched involuntarily, so noticeably that the young Auror, who had only been trying to get his attention, drew his hand back immediately, as if he'd been stung. 

"I'm sorry, sir," he stammered. "I didn't mean to startle you." 

Ron almost turned round behind him to see if his father was standing there; he still hadn't got used to being called _sir_ by anyone, least of all someone who was barely five years younger--or, for that matter, a good number of others here who happened to be older than he was. He half-expected someone to snigger when addressing a mere twenty-three year old by such a title, but to his relief, no one actually ever had. 

"No, I'm sorry," he said. "I reckon my mind was somewhere else just now. Can't have that, can we?" 

Ben Foster tried to smile, but it was obvious that he was more than a little apprehensive and was trying his best to appear composed. Ron knew that Foster was still inexperienced; he'd come out of the Auror Academy only nine months ago and had been assigned to mostly low-level missions up to this point. No wonder the poor bloke seemed a bit jittery tonight. Ron decided it would probably be best not add to his anxiety in any way. 

"Has everyone arrived?" 

"The last of them arrived just five minutes ago," he said, motioning to the rest of the Aurors to gather round them. 

Ron nodded, then waited for the rest of the group to assemble. All of the Aurors had worn simple black hooded robes like his to conceal themselves, and it was only then that he realised for the first time the irony of how eerily they resembled the Death Eaters. 

The very thought sent chills raking up his spine. 

He felt those chills settle in his stomach, before spreading throughout his body like poison when he realised that there were only eight Aurors here tonight--three of whom were no older than Foster, and had even less experience than he. Ron forced himself not to follow that particular thought to conclusion; none of them could afford to feel outnumbered, especially not at a time such as this. He just hoped no one would be bold enough to voice the thought out loud. 

As it turned out, Foster had something else on his mind. 

"Sir," he said, "should we start placing Anti-Apparition Wards around the area-" 

"No." 

Ron had cut him off more sharply than he had intended. He saw Foster stiffen immediately, as if in anticipation of what he was about to say. 

"We haven't any Portkeys," he said. "We'll have no bloody way of getting out of here if all hell were to break loose. And besides..." 

He looked past all of them to look out at the waves again, his eyes searching for any sign of movement, however subtle. 

"We're here to trap those bastards. And the only way to do that is let them apparate here." 

Simone Curry, another of the newer recruits, was the one to ask the question that Ron had been dreading all night. 

"But sir, how are we to stop them disapparating once they realise we're here?" 

Ron let out a weary sigh. 

"That," he said, "will be the real trick. We've got to take them by surprise. We've no other choice. As soon as we pounce, we've got to immobilise them--straight away, before they get the chance to reach for their wands..." 

It all sounded so simple that he had even himself almost convinced. Almost. 

At length, Foster said, "What do we do now?" 

"We wait. We wait and get ready-" 

"Sir!!" 

Ron saw it even before Foster ever got the word out. Moonlight bent at an angle, as shadows began to solidify into figures that suddenly appeared standing in the shallow edges of the water. Ron's breath jammed in his throat, and without even turning his head to look at the other Aurors, he screamed, "NOW!" 

The sound was loud enough to carry all the way to the shore; Ron saw the Death Eaters' heads pivoting in their direction one by one, their hoods casting shadows over their faces, effectively concealing them. He felt his brain switch into auto-pilot as he plunged into his robes for his wand and charged towards the group, sparks littering the sky as hexes shot out from enemy wands. 

God in heaven, there had to be at least twenty Death Eaters here--more, even, as bodies continued to materialise from thin air at an alarming rate, until the shore was completely lined with black figures. 

They weren't just outnumbered. They were being bloody ambushed. 

"_Immobulus_!!" 

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" 

"_Crucio_!" 

Bodies were falling hard to the ground, blood splattering onto the rocks, and Ron could no longer distinguish which of the fallen were on his side, and which ones were those on the enemies'. Blindly, he stumbled forward, not even knowing whether he'd been hit by a curse, but charging ahead nevertheless. He aimed his wand at a Death Eater who had just apparated less than ten feet away from him and screamed out the spell to immobilise him. And even when the Death Eater pitched forward, Ron kept shouting the words, over and over again until he was hoarse, hoping that the spell might actually hit others, but knowing there were far too many for him to possibly reach. 

There were far too many, and they were coming much too fast. 

"Sir! Foster has gone down!" 

Ron felt his heart smash against his ribcage. Curry grabbed him by the arm to turn him around. 

"Over there," she said, pointing to a lifeless body by the shore. "He might be..." 

"Keep your wand out!" Ron said. "Any sign of movement and immobilise the person--I don't care who it is, do you understand? If it's one of our own, we'll revive them later..." 

He stayed only long enough to see her nod, then sprinted over to Foster, dodging screams and falling bodies and sparks of green. When he had reached Foster, he dropped to his knees and reached for the young man's pulse point without a moment's hesitation. 

He was alive. That much was for certain. Ron's eyes traveled down and his stomach twisted at the sight of blood soaking through the thick weave of Foster's robes, just above his knee. Those Death Eaters hadn't just leveled a curse on him; they'd attacked him physically as well. 

Bastards. 

In the old days, his father had told him, the Death Eaters had gone after all people--Muggle and wizard alike--for fun. But they'd always done it with magic, never by physically touching them. And now they were gaining in boldness. God knew just how far they would go this time. 

"You're going to be all right," he said to Foster. 

Foster was gritting his teeth and looked as if he were trying to respond, but Ron shook his head to cut him off before he could even speak. 

"Save the thanks for later," he said, hoping humor would be enough to distract the young man from the pain. He aimed his wand at Foster's upper thigh and whispered, "_Medero..._" 

Blood receded immediately, leaving only its caked remnants on the fabric of the robe. 

"Can you stand?" 

"I think so..." 

"OK, come on, then-" 

"Sir, look out!!" 

Ron never had time to register the warning, before a heavy blow struck him to the back of his head, and his knees gave out. 

_ What the..._

That was no hex. It was a blunt object, and it struck him hard, so hard that he saw the figure standing over him split into three distinct shapes. The Death Eater raised a hand again, but just as he did, Ron heard another voice cry out. It hadn't been from one of the Aurors--Ron was sure of it--but the words the Death Eater spoke were words that Ron never thought he would ever hear one of them say. 

"That's enough!" 

"I've got him now, Severus! I can't stop now..." 

_ Severus..._

Ron's blood went cold. No. Not him. Not the one Death Eater he'd spent his entire career trying to hunt down. 

It couldn't be... could it? 

He tried to straighten, but dizziness overtook him once more, and he collapsed before he could even get his upper body to lift up off the ground. 

"I said that's enough! We won't do any more here!" 

"But we've come this far already! How can we give up now-" 

"The others have already left! You will do exactly as I say, or I will make certain that your insubordination does not go unpunished!" 

Ron pried his eyes open. The two hooded figures were no longer standing just over him, but rather a few feet away, and one of them--the one who was speaking--had his back turned to Ron and his hood up. But Ron knew that voice. 

He'd know that voice anywhere. 

_ Son of a bitch... _

He's here, he's actually here... Bloody hell, I've finally got him... 

He jammed his elbow hard to the ground for leverage. The world spun around him when he managed to get his head up, but he clenched his jaw and carried on nevertheless. 

Apparently, Snape's threats had had an effect, because the Death Eater he'd been trying to coerce had vanished, as had the dozens of others who had scattered all over the shore and stood their ground just moments before. All who were left now were the fallen bodies of his comrades--some breathing, some not--and all Ron could do was focus all of his rage on the lone figure that stood just a few feet away from him. 

Whether he'd willed a sudden burst of adrenalin or he'd managed to call upon some hidden reserve of magic without even knowing it, he wasn't sure, but by some miracle, he managed to get to his feet, however shakily, and stumbled towards Snape. He was seconds away from lunging at him when Snape suddenly spun around, as if sensing an imminent attack. 

"You dirty Death Eater bastard!!" Ron spat out. He reached for Snape's robes, but fell before he ever made contact. 

Snape merely watched him fall at first, then a corner of his mouth began to twitch and then rose into something that resembled both a sneer and a smile at the same time. Ron could only look back at him in disgust for his chillingly cavalier manner. 

"Are you proud??" he said. "Are you proud of what you've done? Are you happy that you've betrayed everything Dumbledore ever stood for? Did you enjoy hearing those Muggles in Wales beg for their lives when you murdered them? How about those Muggles in Ireland? How did it feel to hear them screaming?" 

Snape breathed in without so much as batting an eyelash. 

"Always so quick to judge." 

If Ron only had strength enough, he would have struck him right then and there with his bare hands. But he could barely lift his arm just to point his wand at Snape's ugly, crooked nose. 

Snape came closer, and Ron reached for his wand and gripped it, however pathetically useless the action was. 

"Go ahead," Snape said. His eyes burned into Ron's, full of challenge and maddening amusement. "You wanted to capture me, didn't you?" 

He leaned in closer, then said, "_Weasley..._" 

Ron felt his heart leap to his throat. 

How did... 

"Yes," Snape said. "I know it's you. Did you actually think Polyjuice Potion would fool me?" 

Ron wasn't about to confirm or deny anything, but he knew that even without his admission, Snape had already worked it all out. 

"What do you want?" 

Snape merely smiled back at him. If this was some kind of riddle he wanted Ron to solve, Ron did not have the patience for it. Nothing the bastard was doing right now made any sense. He could have easily disapparated by now. He could have been long gone. He could have gone back to his master and left Ron here--left all of the Aurors here--to die. 

So why hadn't he? 

"If you want to arrest me, go ahead," Snape said simply. He actually sounded sincere. 

Ron forced himself to look up, though his head was throbbing incessantly and it was all he could do not to get violently ill at Snape's feet. 

"Bloody insane you are," he said with an incredulous laugh that only made his head throb more. 

Snape's eyes narrowed momentarily; it was a look Ron was most familiar with. Then in a surprising move, he took out his wand and let it drop to the ground. Ron stared at him in disbelief, his eyes flicking to the wand, then back up to Snape, unable to believe what they had just seen. 

"What... what are you playing at?" 

"I'm unarmed," Snape said. "I'm unarmed! What are you waiting for?" 

Ron tried to straighten, but fell once again. He didn't even have the chance to look back up when Snape suddenly took hold of his head. Ron struggled against him, fighting in vain, until he realized Snape was muttering a simple healing spell. 

Snape abruptly let him go, causing Ron to lose his balance and fall to his side. Then Ron looked up at him, bewildered by what he had just done. 

"Why did you do that?" Ron said. 

This time, Snape didn't respond. He simply stared back at Ron, as if waiting for him to make the next move. When Ron realised he wouldn't answer, he reached behind him gingerly to feel at the back of his head. There was caked blood there, but whatever swelling there had been was now going down quickly, and he could now manage to get himself upright without swaying. 

He kept his eyes fixed on Snape, though, watching him closely in case this was all some sort of an elaborate trick, and his old Potions Master was about to strike him down once and for all. 

But he only stared straight ahead and said, "Do what you've come to do." 

He couldn't be serious, could he? It was as if he actually wanted Ron to arrest him. Just what the hell was going on here? 

Both men continued to eye each other, until at last, Ron aimed his wand and Snape and chords shot out, wrapping around Snape's wrists. 

When he'd made certain that the ropes were secure, he said, "What is all of this?" 

Snape's face had turned completely unreadable. Ron watched him, but it seemed Snape was determined to make him wait. 

Finally he broke the silence. "There are other ways to fight." 

"No," Ron said. "There won't be any more fighting. You're done, do you hear me? You're done!" 

Snape suddenly gave him a smile that made him want to come out of his skin. 

"It's not done, Weasley. And you are making the biggest mistake of your life." 

Ron snorted out a laugh. Snape had to be simply spouting his rhetoric, after all. He tugged on the chords on Snape's wrist to pull them even tighter, enjoying the sight of Snape flinching slightly in pain when he did. 

And yet, even as he tried to dismiss Snape's words as the ramblings of a defiant man under arrest, Ron couldn't help but shudder inside at what he had said. 


	3. Chapter 3: Veritas

_ Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I attempting to make a profit. This is all for pure entertainment's sake! Hope you enjoy! _

Author's note: this chapter ended up being longer than I'd expected; R&H will make their appearance in the next one, I promise, and it will be **all** R&H in the next chapter (I've already written it, so I guarantee it! :)). 

Thanks as always to Alcamenes and soupytwist for their wonderful betaing and their utmost patience!!

  


** A Deal With The Devil  
Chapter 3: Veritas**

If he closed his eyes, he could see it all over again. Blood. So much of it, flowing over the rocks and staining the shore, contaminating the sea and filling the air with that sick stench of iron. Even now, Ron could feel his stomach churn just thinking of it, his hand twitching at the memory of Foster's blood coating his fingers and that scared, panicked look in the young Auror's eyes when the reality of the mission had finally sunk in. 

They had lost four of their own today. Three were still at St. Mungo's, being treated for severe hex burns and powerful mind-altering curses; their physical injuries had been healed easily enough, though their psyches remained thoroughly shaken from the harrowing ordeal. But four had never even made it to the hospital, having been hit with the ultimate Unforgivable curse and left to die on the shores of the bloodied sea by the bastards who didn't even bother to stick around to see everything through. 

Ron had never suffered casualties on a mission before. Not once in his young career. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd always known he would find himself in this situation at some point; he'd done his best to prepare himself for that inevitability. 

But not even in his worst nightmares did he ever imagine he would lose them in this way. 

A hand curved over his shoulder; Ron almost jumped out of his skin at the unexpected touch. He turned around to see Wentworth standing harried and pale, as if he'd been up all night. And he probably had been. 

"Have you been here since last night?" 

Ron shook his head. 

"I went home for a bit this morning," he said. "I had to see my wife. Let her know I was all right." 

If he had to be honest with himself, that wasn't the reason he'd gone to see Hermione. At least not the entire reason. When he apparated in their room, she hadn't even been awake--and he hadn't had the heart to shake her out of slumber. She would have been frantic at the sight of dried blood on his robes, and all the bruises and cuts he hadn't bothered to let the doctors at St. Mungo's attend to. Better to let her sleep and never know he had been there by her side, drawing strength from her without her even being aware of it. 

And so he just watched her, wanting so badly to run his hand over her hair, but not daring to, lest she wake. Maybe she could sense that he was in the room after all, and that he was OK, though so many of his comrades had not been nearly as fortunate. 

He'd just needed to see her. To see her delicate eyelids flutter as she dreamt, and see the steady rise and fall of her chest as she took in air. He disapparated before she ever opened her eyes, coming face to face once again with the harshness of last night's events when he saw a team of doctors rushing into Simone Curry's room. He hadn't been able to move from the spot since then, not until Wentworth arrived and got his attention. 

"There's nothing more you can do here, Weasley," he said. 

Ron knew he was right, but found it difficult all the same to make his limbs move. 

"Go home-" 

"No." 

He caught himself, realising all too late that this was his superior, to whom he'd just spoken in a much too firm manner, and he stammered out a follow-up in a lame attempt to apologise. 

"I'd... I'd much rather go to Azkaban, sir," he said. "Have they begun to question Snape yet?" 

Wentworth let out a breath but kept his lips pressed together in a taut line. 

"Won't your wife be worried about you?" 

"I'll send her an owl and let her know I'm safe." 

Wentworth seemed unconvinced, though, and Ron decided that perhaps it was time to just tell the truth. 

"Please sir, I have to do this. I want him to explain to me why he's done what he's done-" 

"That's just it, you're far too involved," Wentworth said. "The Ministry is already out for his blood! They want to bypass as much of procedure as they can so they can cut straight to punishing him for treason. I can't have one of my own losing his objectivity right when this department needs it the most, do you understand?" 

"I won't." 

Ron forced himself to let out the air he'd been holding in his lungs, but his fists clenched tighter at his sides. He hoped Wentworth wouldn't notice. 

"You have my word, sir," he said. "I won't do anything stupid. I won't jeopardise anything." 

Wentworth stared at him for a long time, as if trying to weigh the truth in his words. Ron could see the genuine doubt in his eyes; he'd never seen that in his superior before. For the last five years, Ron had been glorified and lauded, thrust upon a pedestal on which he'd never wanted to be perched in the first place. But now for the first time, he saw fear in Wentworth's eyes. A real fear. 

And Ron did not want to fail him. 

"If you feel it's best that I not be involved, I'll understand-" 

"He's been asking for you." 

Ron blinked back at him. 

"Asking for me?" 

"We've tried to question him, but he refuses to say a single word to any of us. He says he'll speak to only one person. You." 

Ron shook his head and almost let out a laugh, but stopped himself just in time. He didn't even know why he almost did in the first place; he didn't find anything about this the least bit amusing. 

"Crazy bastard," he muttered. 

Snape always did have to be difficult. Apparently this would be no exception. 

"The Ministry is pressuring me to do without the questioning altogether," Wentworth said. "They want me be done with it and officially declare him a traitor. But I won't do it, Weasley. Not without his statement. We have to get it, one way or the other." 

"I understand, sir." 

After a long pause, Wentworth said, "Snape says he won't speak to anyone but you. So if I have your assurance that you won't lose your objectivity-" 

"I won't," Ron said, rushing to reassure him before he could even finish the thought. "I won't, I promise. I'll do my job the way you trained me, sir." 

Wentworth took so long to answer that Ron was certain his answer would be no. But instead, he nodded, as if in resignation. 

"I'll leave it to you, then, Weasley," he said. "I'm relying on you. Find out everything you can." 

Indeed he would. And then some. 

* * *

They said that no man had ever walked through the gates of Azkaban Prison without carrying at least a little bit of madness in him by the time he left. Ron believed it wholeheartedly. 

No matter how many times he'd stepped foot inside this mighty fortress, no matter how much he'd prepared himself for what awaited him inside, that cold blast of emptiness that assaulted him as soon as he came within a few feet of its stone walls never failed to shake him to his very core. Each time he entered this desolate place, he felt a small part of him die, seemingly never to be recovered again. Memories suddenly fell out of reach--sweet memories of summers diving in the murky lake with his brothers, of licking cake batter from his mother's mixing spoons, of holding Hermione's hand, and kissing her, and breathing in that scent that was hers alone. 

At times it took him hours to recover from having come here. Ron knew if he ever had to spend a night in one of these cells, much less be condemned to an entire lifetime in one, he'd go mad as quickly as all the others he'd seen muttering to themselves, clinging hopelessly to the bars and staring out with blank, soulless eyes. 

Over the years, the number of Dementors guarding the prison had dwindled to a far smaller number than it had been only ten years ago, with many having defected to the Dark Lord's side at the time of his return. Still, the number that remained was enough to make any man feel despondent within minutes of entering the fortress, but at least Ron could now manage to stay a few hours at a time before he needed to get away for his own sanity. 

Weak flames flickered on the torches along the wall. Ron followed the head guard down the narrow hallway, ignoring the faces of the prisoners pressed up against the bars, with their hollow stares and their knotted, greasy hair. He had to ignore them. He would go mad right along with them otherwise. 

Being this close to a Dementor was torture enough. His rigorous Auror training had taught him some techniques to ward off the effects, but even they could only do so much. It was taking all of his strength to concentrate and keep the desperation and emptiness at bay, and it certainly didn't help that the bar of chocolate he'd brought along with him to nibble on throughout his visit here was now a few bites away from being gone altogether. 

He hoped he'd be able to make it long enough to do what he had come here to do. 

They came to a stop at some sort of a special holding cell at the very end of the hall. The Dementor raised its hand to stick the key in the lock, and Ron couldn't help but wince when he caught a glimpse of the scabbed, bony hand turning the key. A click sounded, followed by a mighty rumbling as the bars slid open. It was only then that Ron finally raised his eyes to survey his surroundings. 

Snape was sitting perfectly still in the far corner of the dimly lit cell, right on the floor, next to the candle which looked to be in the dying stages of its life. The meager flame made shadows on his face, further deepening the fine lines on his sallow skin, and making his cheeks look all the more hollow and his nose all the more crooked. 

He stared up at Ron with a cool mask of serenity, and more than a healthy dose of defiance for good measure. Perhaps he thought Ron would flinch. Had they still been at Hogwarts, with their roles as they had been--professor and student--Ron might have, but he was much older now, and the roles were reversed. 

Ron would no longer be intimidated by anyone, least of all a dirty rotten Death Eater. 

He felt coldness brush against him, as the Dementor turned to face him. Ron immediately looked down, so as to avoid eye contact, but felt that sick, clammy feeling come over him nevertheless, and he closed his eyes, waiting for it to pass. 

Without looking up, he nodded and said, "Thank you, that'll be all for now." 

There was no response, at least not an audible one, but the Dementor eventually left the cell, and Ron felt the emptiness ease inside of him--though only slightly, as the other Dementors who stood guard over this entire block were not too far away. 

When the bars had clicked shut behind him, he looked up once more. Snape was staring at him, as if he'd been staring at him all this time. Ron guessed that he must have been waiting for him to say something, but decided to keep him waiting on purpose. Snape had tormented him enough times in school; how many chances would he get for payback? 

Of course Hermione would be the first to scold him right now for letting his childhood longing for revenge cloud his judgment. And the very thought of her admonishing him made him feel a twinge of guilt. Besides, he had given his word to Wentworth. He supposed he should just get on with it then. 

"All right, here's the way it's going to work," he said, leaning up against the wall. "You're going to answer my questions, and you're going to tell me the truth. I heard you've been trying to stall all this time, but your excuses have run out. If it's me you wanted to talk to, then talk." 

Snape let out a laugh. Ron couldn't tell whether he was trying to be indignant or reacting in amusement to what Ron had just said. 

Either way, Ron's patience was running ever thinner. 

"Are you or aren't you going to talk?" 

Snape's voice was impossibly even when he replied. 

"I believe the question is, Weasley," he said, "are you or are you not going to listen?" 

Now they were beginning to get somewhere. 

"Depends on what you've got to say. I'm not here to play mind games with you, Snape. Apparently that's your expertise, but I won't let you manipulate me or the Aurors the way you managed to manipulate Dumbledore." 

Snape's eyes twitched at the mention of the old headmaster's name. His nostrils flared and he looked as if he were about to fly into a rage, but managed to gain control of himself just in time. 

"If you knew everything," he said, "I assure you that you would not be standing there all smug and righteous and sure that you've got this all worked out. You don't even know a tenth of what the truth is." 

Ron shook his head and laughed. 

"Save your riddles for somebody who gives a damn." 

He'd had enough. If the bastard wasn't going to speak, then he wasn't going to stick around either and be played for a fool. He banged on the bars with his fist. 

"Guard-" 

"The truth, Weasley?" 

Ron turned around to look at him again. 

"The truth... is that I've been paying close attention to you for the last few months." 

"What the hell are you on about?" 

Snape's thin mouth curved into a smile. "Got your attention, have I?" 

"Just tell me what you meant!" 

"You've managed to make quite a career for yourself," he said, then he clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in that ever so familiar way. "Who would have ever thought. Ron Weasley, one of Hogwarts' most famous underachievers, transforming himself into the Ministry's brightest young Auror in centuries." 

Ron clenched his jaw. "Well, if you'd stuck around long enough," he said, "you'd've known I turned myself around by sixth year. 'Course, you were too busy torturing Muggles to pay attention, weren't you?" 

"So you think." 

"So the entire wizarding world thinks, you bastard! What other conclusion were we supposed to come to? You'd _left_! You'd vanished without a trace, and then all the rumors came about, and all the sightings... and I bloody caught you myself in the middle of a raid!" He shook his head again. "How the hell do you intend to explain all that?" 

Eyes fixed on Ron's, he said, without a trace of emotion, "I'm a spy." 

It took a few minutes for Ron to even realise what Snape had just said. And even longer for him to process the words themselves. 

"What?" 

There was something about Snape's eyes in that moment--a kind of sadness, or regret. Ron didn't quite understand what it meant, but for some reason, his instincts were telling him to listen right now, and to listen well. 

"I had joined the Death Eaters when I was young," he began to say, his voice heavy with what seemed to be regret. "When I was far too young to understand what I was getting myself into, and far too hungry for power myself. I believed him when he said we could gain control over everything, but I should have known then it was all lies. He wanted the power for himself, and he would have cut any one of us loose if he so chose." 

Ron slowly sank to the ground. 

"When I came to realise the mistake I'd made, I ran back to Dumbledore. By then, Voldemort was at the height of his power, and there were those who had begun to band together to fight him. Dumbledore was the one who led the cause. Potter's parents, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin... They were all there to fight Voldemort's hunt for power. Dumbledore recruited me despite my past. None of them wanted me--they thought I would betray them all for Voldemort, but Dumbledore fought for me. And he never stopped fighting for me." 

It was true. Harry had once told him, after Ron had gone on a verbal rampage about Snape's disloyalty one time during fifth year, that Dumbledore had vouched for Snape before, and that he had never stopped believing that all the nasty rumors about Snape were all lies. 

"Our group was called the Order of the Phoenix, Weasley. We swore to do everything we could to fight Voldemort and his followers. And I have kept that vow to this very day." 

Ron let out a disgusted laugh. 

"How?" he said. "By joining Voldemort again? By killing all those Muggles? I have to hand it to you, Snape. At least you picked the perfect time to _reveal the truth._ Dumbledore's not around anymore to verify a single word that comes out of your mouth, so what the hell does it matter what you say now, eh?" 

Snape was clearly shaken by Ron's accusation. Ron had never seen Snape unnerved, but sure enough, he was. 

"Dumbledore had asked me to infiltrate Voldemort's inner circle again," he said, having found his voice once more. "You're right, I have no way of proving it, but it's the truth. Dumbledore knew that the only way to destroy the Dark Lord was to destroy him from the inside-" 

"But you didn't destroy him. Bloody hell, you've actually _helped_ him!" 

Snape shook his head. "You don't understand. There's so much you don't understand-" 

"Then help me understand, damn it!" 

"He already considered me a traitor, don't you see that?? He knew I'd joined Dumbledore, and he knew I'd tried to protect Potter from him when he sought the Stone... I needed to prove my loyalty if I was to carry out this mission that Dumbledore gave me!" 

Ron had heard enough. He got to his feet, ready to call out to the guard again--anything to get out of here--when he heard Snape speak one more time. 

"I've tried to stop them as best I can," he said quietly. "You were there. You saw how I held them back and prevented them killing those Muggles-" 

"And what about the ones in Wales last month??" Ron volleyed back. "What about the ones in Ireland last year? The ones you ambushed during Christmas? Christmas, for God's sake!!" 

Snape could only let out a sigh and look down on the ground. "I couldn't stop everything." 

"Evidently." 

He couldn't look at him anymore. Spy or not, Ron couldn't stomach the sight of him. Not when he had the blood of so many people on his hands, including Ron's own colleagues. He may claim to have tried to stop the Death Eaters, but as far as Ron was concerned, he didn't try nearly hard enough to do it. 

"Guard!!" 

"Don't leave." 

"Why the hell should I stay? You've told me all I need to know." 

"No," Snape said. "Not even close to everything." 

"I've heard enough." 

"If you want to stop Voldemort once and for all, you'll listen to the rest of what I have to say. You'll help me-" 

"_Help_ you??" 

Ron almost choked on his own laugh. 

"Bloody hell, you really are delusional. I'd rather _die_ than help you-" 

"That's exactly what might happen." 

Ron regarded him with disdain. 

"I'll take my chances." 

Snape could rot in hell as far as he was concerned. 


	4. Chapter 4: All These Things Will I Give ...

_ Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I attempting to make a profit. This is all for pure entertainment's sake! Hope you enjoy! _

Author's note: Alcamenes and soupytwist rule the universe. Tis a fact. 

Finally, some lighter moments. Believe me, I looked forward to writing something sweet and romantic as much as y'all looked forward to reading it. 

R&H goodness. Need I say more? ;)

  


** A Deal With The Devil  
Chapter 4: All These Things Will I Give Thee**

Ron kept an extra pair of plain robes in his office, stuffed away in the back of an old, creaky cupboard that smelled of dust and rotting mothballs--and other things he was quite sure he'd rather not think about too much. The robes were there exclusively for emergency purposes, in case he ever had to meet with some high-ranking official at the last moment and needed to look halfway presentable. He reckoned a faded jumper and a worn pair of Muggle jeans would probably not be deemed too professional by many in the Ministry (most especially his own wife, not to mention his brother Percy, who never failed to remind him at least once a day to "take more pride" in his daily attire). 

This hardly qualified as an emergency, but Ron felt justified all the same in digging out the spare robes. The ones he'd worn last night during the botched raid were caked with blood, and torn in several different places. They'd been in far worse shape than he'd thought, and when he managed to take a good look at himself in the mirror this morning, he realised that he would never be able to go home looking this way. 

Hermione would get hysterical. 

The robes were rumpled from having been crushed under the weight of papers and books (Ron used the cupboard more as a makeshift filing cabinet than for its original purposes), and the smoothing charm could get rid of only so many wrinkles. But it would have to do. Hermione might be able to overlook a few wrinkles, but he'd never be able to get the frayed hem and blotches of dried blood on the other robes past her observant eyes. 

Of course, there were also the bruises and various cuts all over his face and arms and legs. He wasn't even sure where the majority of them had come from, but they were there all the same, and he knew he'd have to make them go away somehow--or at least make them seem less noticeable--before he ever stepped foot inside the house. 

Healing charms were Ginny's specialty, but he'd grown up in a rowdy household of six boys; he'd learnt enough of the charms as a young boy to know how to make the bruises fade somewhat, and at least transfigure the cuts into faint scars. He didn't have time to go back to St. Mungo's just to have these taken care of, and besides, the doctors had far more important injuries to attend to. 

It was early evening by the time he apparated back to the house, with the mid-summer sun still an hour or two from dipping into the horizon. He'd expected to see Hermione spread out on the sofa in the living room, surrounded by the army of papers she always brought home with her from work (he often liked to tease her about neglecting him for her work, but secretly, he had to admit he found her rather... sexy when she was engrossed in whatever she was doing). 

She wasn't anywhere downstairs, however, at least not in the immediate vicinity. But there was an exquisite fragrance in the air, of roast chicken and boiled potatoes, and freshly baked bread. He poked his head into the kitchen, but she was nowhere to be found here either, and he was about to call out for her when he turned around and literally ran right into her. 

"Hey!" she said, laughing when she finally recovered. "Watch out, will you?" 

She was carrying candlesticks in one hand, and two wine glasses in the other, but she set them both down on the table and looped her arms around his neck before he could form a smart retort, raising up on her toes to give him a kiss that made his head swim. 

"I missed you," she murmured. 

He never tired of hearing those words. He reckoned he'd never tire of them, for as long as he lived. 

"Oh come on," he teased, "I was gone for only a day." 

She groaned and tried to break away, but he trapped her by wrapping his arms around her hips and pulled her close for another kiss. 

"Nice to know my husband couldn't have cared less that he was away." 

"Mmm," he said, nuzzling her neck, "I definitely wouldn't say that." 

"Oh no, you don't," she said, though she made no real effort to pull away. 

"Oh yes I will..." 

She capitulated at last, collapsing in giggles as he tried to tickle the soft flesh beneath her earlobe with his tongue. He turned his head to recapture her mouth, taking his time in exploring all those secret spots that he knew made her gasp in delight. 

"Hermione..." 

"Hmm?" 

"I did miss you, you know." 

He touched his forehead to hers. 

"I was here this morning," he said. "Watching you sleep." 

She pulled away slightly to look up at him. "You were? Why didn't you wake me?" 

He shrugged. If he said the words right now, he knew he'd stand a good chance of choking on that bloody lump in his throat, and besides, he didn't want to talk about last night, anyway. Or this morning. He just wanted to forget all about it. 

Forget all about seeing his fellow Aurors fall to the ground, and hearing Snape spin lies about carrying out Dumbledore's cause... 

All he wanted in that moment was to feel her. Feel himself with her. 

He answered her with a kiss, one long enough and deep enough for her to forget the question, he hoped. And when they finally parted, he tucked away a few wayward curls behind her ear and said, "So... didn't you say you had some sort of surprise for me?" 

"I should have guessed you wouldn't forget." 

He laughed, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. 

"'Course I wouldn't." 

She picked up the candlesticks and wine glasses again, then gestured behind him. 

"Could you?" she said. 

Ron looked behind him and saw a bottle of Muggle wine resting in a bucket of ice. He drew it out, hearing the cubes of ice rattle inside the bucket, then looked at the label. Truth be told, he knew next to nothing about Muggle spirits apart from the fact that he rather liked the way they tasted (the few times he'd had the opportunity to partake of them at his in-laws' dinner parties), but he'd seen the word _Chardonnay_ before, and he vaguely remembered having liked that particular drink. 

He placed the bottle back into the bucket and carried the whole thing, following her out to the garden, where the sky was awash with brilliant corals and lavenders and reds, as the sun slowly crossed to the south and began to make its final descent. She led him to the old acorn tree in the very back of their property, with the mighty branches that curved down towards the earth, providing a cool shade in the warmth of dusk. 

It was only when they'd reached the tree that he noticed what she'd done--what she must have been doing all this time, when he'd come home and saw that she was nowhere to be found. 

She'd spread out his old, faded Cannons blanket from childhood (and protected it with an anti-stain charm, she assured him) on a patch of grass just underneath the tree. There was a veritable feast laid out, as well: the roast chicken he'd smelled earlier, and the potatoes and the bread, and even small custard tarts which he knew took her hours to make because she always took such care to make sure that the pastry was just right. She kicked off her shoes and dropped to her knees, setting the glasses down, then turning her wand on the candles, first to light them, then to levitate them until they hung low in the air. 

"Well, slow coach," she said, looking up at him and laughing, "were you planning on joining me here, or did you want that wine all to yourself tonight?" 

He gave her a grin and handed her the wine, then kicked his shoes off too and sat down beside her on the blanket. 

"I see your dastardly plan," he said. "Get me drunk, then have your way with me, eh?" 

She peered at him from the corner of her eye, clearly trying to fight a smile as she pulled the cork out of the wine bottle and began to fill their glasses. 

"Something like that, I suppose." 

"Well good," he said. "I could use the distraction." 

"You're impossible." 

He shrugged. "I know." 

No sooner than she had handed him his glass and he'd taken his first sip out of it, did she frown all of the sudden; Ron wondered what he possibly could have done in such short a time span to ruffle her feathers so quickly. 

"Goodness, Ron, it's sweltering out here," she said. "How can you be wearing all of that?" 

She was right, he supposed. It was rather unbearable again tonight (this had to be some kind of record), and she herself was dressed only in a light, sleeveless dress--which, Ron couldn't help but note, had just the right amount of sheerness to it, and the sudden realisation sent a jolt of desire through his bloodstream. 

"Let's get this off you," she said, then she began to tug at his robes. 

He laughed and said, "By all means, please feel free to undress me as you wish." 

She stopped abruptly and he heard her gasp. He looked up to see what had made her pause, realising too late what it must have been. 

"Ron... My God, what is this?" 

Her fingers delicately brushed the area where his shoulder met his neck. Ron had forgotten the bruise he'd got there, from where he'd hit the rocks when he fell after being struck. 

He eased her hand off him and gave her a gentle squeeze. "It's nothing-" 

"That's not nothing," she said. "You were hurt last night?" 

"I'm fine now." 

She looked unconvinced, but he took her hand and kissed it once more. 

"Really." 

"You're sure?" 

"I'm sure." 

He leaned back all the way until he was lying down on the blanket, pulling her down with him so her head was pillowed on his chest. 

"Look at that sky," he said. 

He felt her press up against him, her arm bridged across his torso and her cheek resting on his collarbone. He brought one arm over her waist and pulled her into him, hearing her sigh when he did. 

"It's beautiful." 

"You're beautiful." 

She shifted so that she was hovering over him, supporting herself on one elbow, while her other hand traced his cheekbone, feeling at the rough stubble. 

"Ron..." 

"Yeah?" 

"There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about." 

He tilted his head in her direction and squinted to look up at her, the slowly-sinking sun hitting him right in the eyes. 

"You look so serious," he said. "Should I be worried?" 

She laughed. "I should hope not." 

"What is it?" 

She opened her mouth to respond, but closed it almost as quickly. Now Ron was really curious as to what this was all about. 

"Well, you know, we have discussed this before..." 

"Discussed what?" 

She came up to sitting again. Ron followed suit. 

"I mean, it's not as if this is something that's never been brought up..." 

"Hermione," he said, laughing, "would you just come out and say it? I don't mind sitting here, playing guessing games, but the food is getting cold, and the wine is getting warm-" 

"What do you think about having a baby?" 

Ron blinked back at her, wondering if he'd heard what he'd just heard. He had had some wine, after all. And not being accustomed to Muggle drinks, sometimes it took not much more than a few sips to impair his faculties. 

"What?" 

There was apprehension on her face, mixed with a bit of excitement and fervor, too. 

God, she looked beautiful. 

"Are you..." He wasn't even sure what the hell he was trying to say here. "I mean... are you trying to tell me that you're..." 

"What?" 

Then she realised what he must have been thinking. 

"Oh, you thought... I'm sorry, I... No, no, I'm not..." She let out a small laugh. "I've really bungled this one, haven't I?" 

She reached up a hand to nervously brush through her hair, but he took it and laced his fingers through hers. 

"What is it, love?" 

She took a deep breath, which seemed to settle her nerves, then she began again. "I was just thinking... how would you feel about starting a family?" 

"You mean... you mean now?" 

"Well I didn't mean _right at this moment,_ but-" 

He gave her his lopsided grin. "Why not?" 

She laughed and shook her head, then started to answer him, but he cut her off with a kiss before she could get any words out. She giggled into his mouth and teased him by breaking away, but he only smiled down at her and captured her bottom lip, gently sucking on it in the way that never failed to make her moan. 

"So does this mean you like the idea?" she said breathlessly, before he silenced her with another kiss. 

She tasted of wine and custard. Delicious as always. 

To hell with dinner. 

"Oh yes, I heartily approve... Matter of fact, I suggest we start straight away..." 

"Ron, I'm serious," she said. "Do you really want... I mean... if you're not ready..." 

He cupped her face, stroking the apples of her cheeks with his thumbs. She was watching him so intently, as if trying to read the subtlest of signs on his face, anything to tell her what he was really thinking at that very moment. 

But all he could think of was how much he loved this woman, and how the very thought of creating a life with her simply blew his mind away. 

"I'm ready," he said. "I think... _we're_ ready." 

"Everything's going to change, you know." 

He smiled. "Yes, I'm quite aware of that." 

She laughed, as if realising that he of all people would know that. He, who had grown up in a rambunctious household, with children running around everywhere, filling up every room of that tiny home. And he realised, he wanted to give her that. He wanted to give her everything she had missed out on, growing up as an only child. 

And he couldn't wait to do it, either. 

"All right?" he said. 

She nodded and pulled him down to her, pausing to whisper before she kissed him, "More than all right." 

He felt her approval in her kiss before he ventured down to his brush his lips across her clavicle, letting his tongue dart out to taste the droplets of sweat that had gathered in the seam of her breasts. He felt her shift underneath him and the neckline of her dress slid down ever so slightly, revealing more of her flushed skin. He traced the outline of her curves with his mouth, at times simply running his lips across the thin fabric of her dress, at others sucking gently, causing her to whimper and tighten her grip on his forearm. 

"Ron, what about... all of this? Aren't you hungry?" 

He laughed right onto her skin, feeling her shudder, and savoring the power he held at being the only one who could make her tremble like _that. _

Just like _that._

"Yes, I am," he whispered. "Very hungry..." 

"I meant-" 

"Shh... I'm trying to seduce my wife, in case you hadn't noticed..." 

He felt her smile against his lips, and he knew right then she'd need no more convincing. He made his way down her throat again, and as he did, she slid a leg up his thigh, running her foot along his calf in smooth motions before she hooked her leg over his hip. The hem of her dress slipped upwards when she did, and at once, Ron could feel the smooth, warm skin of her inner thigh against the fabric of his jeans. 

And suddenly, he felt very overdressed. 

He broke contact--reluctantly so--and Hermione began to voice her disapproval, until she saw that he had pulled away only to rid himself of this bothersome jumper. She must have seen fit to help him, because she ran her hands up his torso to slide the bugger off him, her fingers lovingly tracing every line and contour of his muscles. Ron looked down at her as she explored him all over again, the hungry look in her eyes nearly undoing him right then and there. 

Her hands eventually settled at his hips, her thumbs hooking into his belt loops, tugging slightly at his jeans. Ron could feel every muscle in his body straining, longing to come into contact with her bare skin, longing to touch her and pleasure her until she splintered in his arms. He reached down to fumble at the fastening, but she shooed his fingers away and undid it herself, brushing her knuckles down his length when she unzipped him, as if deliberately prolonging his agony. 

"Hermione..." 

He breathed her name out, but wasn't sure if it had actually been coherent. And in truth, it didn't really matter at this point. To hell with rational thoughts and logic and anything other than... _this... _

This. 

* * *

The sun had finally set now, leaving a trail of fire in its wake that was only now beginning to die down and give way to silver with the emergence of the moon. 

Hermione had fallen asleep not too long after they'd made love; Ron suspected she hadn't got much sleep at all last night when he was away. He let her cling to him, the rhythm of her breath pulling him into slumber too. 

He began to dream of what was to come. Of children and birthday parties, and bedtime stories and Father Christmas. But then the dreams began to turn dark, and the images began to get distorted and twisted, and he saw his children fade and hooded figures take their place. Hooded figures with their faces hidden, looking skyward at the ugly shape of a skull in the heavens. 

And he jerked awake, feeling rivulets of cold sweat trickle down his spine. Hermione stirred beside him, reaching up to touch his face. 

"Ron? What's wrong?" 

"Nothing," he said. He bent down to kiss her, then slid up to sitting. "Just hungry, that's all." 

She didn't look convinced. He didn't really expect her to be. 

"Come on," he said. "Shame to waste this feast." 

She didn't say anything, but sat up beside him, and he held her close to him, hoping to banish those images from his memory. 


	5. Chapter 5: Condicio

_ Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I attempting to make a profit. This is all for pure entertainment's sake! Hope you enjoy! _

Author's note: Alcamenes and soupytwist still rule the universe. 

Apologies for taking so long with this chapter. I had much to do in real life, plus my hands/wrists needed to take a break from typing for a while. But here it is, and I hope it is worth the wait! 

Expect a quick update after this. I've already written Chapter 6 (another reason this chapter took so long to write; I took a break to write Chapter 6 first *hee*), and I have only this to say to R&H fans: fasten your seatbelts ;). For those of you who wanted more R&H goodness, you will be getting it :)

Please review when you get a chance. My hands/wrists will thank you for making their suffering worthwhile (how's that for a guilt trip LOL!).

  


** A Deal With The Devil  
Chapter 5: Condicio**

_ "Condicio" is Latin for "offer"_

Even Ron had to agree that his office was badly in need of tidying up. 

It had been nearly a week since he'd even been here, as evidenced by the disturbingly thick layer of dust on his desk (thicker than usual, anyway, as he couldn't be bothered to dust much on a regular basis), and the stacks of folders on his desk that seemed mere inches away from touching the ceiling, looking not unlike the crooked exterior of The Burrow. 

Normally guilt would have set in by now at the sight of his office in such disarray, and he knew he should probably attempt to move things to their proper places with a flick of his wand, or at least cast a few cleaning charms to make the room a little more presentable. But he had far more important things to attend to, and so in the end, he decided he would make do with simply banishing the folders that made up the wobbliest stack to the back of the room where he wouldn't be able to see them. At least now he could rummage through the rest of the random piles that were left and determine what would qualify as a genuine emergency that he'd need to take care of first. 

Paperwork would be the death of him someday, he thought bitterly. Dark wizards were on the loose out there, terrorising Muggles and wizards alike and plotting unspeakable things, and yet he here was, stuck inside filling out forms and signing documents. Not exactly the best use of his time. 

Barking. 

His eye caught one piece of paper in particular among the various look-alikes that were scattered all over his desk. It had the official wax seal of the Ministry of Magic right on top, and that could mean only one thing: it had to have been handed down from the Minister's office himself. Sure enough, there was a note attached to it, in the secretary's nearly illegible scrawl. 

_ Urgent, please review straight away. _

The Minister requests that you contact him   
regarding this immediately. 

Gemma Watkins 

Bloody Fudge. 

Could never make a move without consulting someone, that man. It was a wonder that he'd ever managed to stay in charge for this long at all, though Ron strongly suspected that his team of advisors had something to do with it; he reckoned they did enough to keep the Minister looking competent enough that he could get away with not doing nearly as much as he should. 

Ron crumpled Mrs. Watkins' note into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket, then reluctantly turned his attention back to Fudge's letter. This should be interesting, all right. But he had barely skimmed the letter in its entirety, when one word leapt out at him, and his stomach fisted instantly at the sight of it. 

_ Snape._

Right. Just what he needed to start off this morning. 

"Sir?" 

Ron looked up immediately, grateful for any excuse for a distraction. Foster was standing at the doorway, dressed in his regulation robes, as only a rookie Auror would be, standing rather stiffly, with his hands clasped at his back. 

Ron felt like telling him to be at ease, but thought the better of it. 

"Am I disturbing you, sir?" 

He still hadn't entered the office exactly, instead standing just under the threshold, with one foot inside and one foot out. 

Ron tucked away a smile and shook his head. 

"Come on in," he said. "Just doing paperwork. I could use a reason to put it off till later." 

Foster seemed to relax a little at that (or at least, didn't seem to be quite as stiff as he had been just moments before), then came all the way in, stopping short of sitting in the extra chair until Ron gestured towards it. 

"How are you?" 

"Better, thanks." 

For a while it had seemed as if he'd wanted to continue, but the small pause stretched into earnest silence, and soon it was clear he was not going to say the rest of what he had to say after all, though he seemed to be straining under the sheer weight of everything he had left unspoken. 

"I'm glad to see you in one piece." 

"You too, sir." 

Ron knew there had been more he had wanted to say, but hadn't. It didn't take a genius to hazard a guess as to what else was there, what more there was that did not need to be voiced. 

It had been two days and he still couldn't get those horrible images out of his head. The smell of sea salt mixed with the stench of blood still lingered just beyond his nostrils, sneaking up on him at times he least expected--much less wanted--and the mere memory was enough to actually make him sick. 

After five years on the job, he had thought he would have developed a tolerance for these things by now, anything that could keep him from cringing whenever he thought about this mission that had gone so terribly wrong. But he should have known there was no such thing as immunity in these matters. 

They were only flesh and blood, after all. 

"I suppose we're both awfully lucky to be sitting here," Foster said quietly. 

Lucky indeed. 

"They won't all be like this, you know," Ron said, more to reassure himself than the young Auror. 

Foster nodded, then broke the gaze, his eyes wandering aimlessly as if searching for something to connect with, until finally they fell on one of the photographs Ron kept at his desk. 

It was the one of him and Emily, which an exhausted Harry (who had gone without sleep for the entire twenty-six hours Ginny had been in labor) had snapped only hours after her birth. Ron couldn't help but smile at the photograph as he picked it up to look at it more closely. He looked awfully ridiculous in it in retrospect, delirious with joy as he held her up to the camera, her tiny features pinched in a soundless cry. 

"Is that your daughter, sir?" 

He shook his head. "My niece, actually. No kids of my own yet." 

_ Yet._

Before he could do anything to stop it, he felt a grin form on his face--and most probably a goofy one at that. Funny how one small word could have the power to produce such an unexpected but exhilarating rush. 

_ Yet,_ he thought. _But soon._

His eye caught movement by the doorway. He straightened immediately when he saw who it was. Wentworth. He was standing quietly at the door, looking as if he had just been about to knock, until Ron met his gaze. 

"Sir..." 

Both he and Foster stood up automatically, and Wentworth nodded in acknowledgement, as if to tell them to sit back down. 

"I should be going," Foster said, looking back and forth from Wentworth to Ron. "Thank you, sir. Thank you, for..." 

Ron nodded. There was no need for him to finish the sentence. 

"Anytime." 

Foster smiled, then left, closing the door behind him, and suddenly Ron felt his stomach clench. It wasn't often that Wentworth came to see him, rather than asking him to come by. 

This couldn't be good news at all. 

"I'm sorry for interrupting," Wentworth said. "But this is urgent." 

Urgent. Ron had learnt to hate that word. 

"Of course, sir, I understand. What's happened?" 

Wentworth's eyes flicked down to the desk where Ron had carelessly left Fudge's letter, neglected and unread. 

"I see you've heard from the Minister already." 

"I received his letter this morning," Ron began to explain, feeling the full guilt now of not having attended to this straight away. "But I'm afraid I haven't had a chance to read through it yet..." 

"Well let me give you the gist of it then." 

By the way Wentworth's jaw was set, Ron could tell he was upset, though he wasn't sure that Wentworth was upset at his admission in particular. 

"It seems he wants you to... _elaborate_ on your report on your questioning of Snape." 

Ron furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't quite follow... I've written as complete report as I could. What else is there left to say?" 

"Snape's confession," Wentworth said. "That is what the Minister wants on your report." 

Ron couldn't believe what he was hearing. 

"But he _didn't_ confess," he said. "In fact he denied the whole thing-" 

"I'm well aware of that, Weasley." 

He let out a sigh, then walked over to the window and stared out of it. He stared out of it for a long time before he spoke again. 

"I told you, the Ministry is out for his blood," he said matter-of-factly. "Don't forget, those high-ranking officials didn't want to believe at first that You-Know-Who had come back. It took an attack on a Muggle village to get them to wake up and see what was right before their eyes." 

"So they're trying to make up for it." 

Wentworth turned to face Ron again. 

"And then some," he said. "They've authorised a Dementor's Kiss on him." 

"They've _what_??" 

"This is out of my hands, Weasley. They've made up their minds and there is no changing them." 

"Sir, they can't do that!" Ron said. "Without a proper trial?" 

"That's why they're insisting on this confession. If the public at large were to believe that Snape confessed to everything and pled guilty, the Ministry would be justified in administering the Dementor's Kiss." 

"This is mad... You know this is mad!" 

"Yes," he said, "I do know. But I also know we haven't any choice in the outcome." 

Ron shook his head. "Sir, I can't just write up a confession that he never made. I won't." 

"I'm not asking you to," Wentworth said. "If Fudge wants a confession, it will have to be a real one. I may not be able to do anything to prevent a Dementor's Kiss, but I will be damned if I let them pressure us into falsifying a confession." 

Quietly, Ron said, "So where does that leave us, then?" 

He had a feeling he wasn't going to like the answer either way. And in a matter of seconds he found out just how right he was. 

"I think you know exactly where this leaves us," Wentworth said. "You have to go back to Azkaban to see Snape." 

Ron resisted the urge to protest and forced himself to look straight ahead, without emotion, without reaction. There were so many reasons why he didn't want to do this, but he knew not one of them would make a damn bit of difference right now. 

"Make him see reason, Weasley. He knows what he's done. At least this way..." He sighed, then shook his head. "At least this way we can proceed and just wash our hands clean of it." 

It all sounded so simple. But Ron had to wonder if everything could really be as neat and tidy as Wentworth had just described. 

He had a feeling things would be anything but. 

* * *

"I knew you'd be back." 

The smugness in Snape's voice made Ron's skin crawl. It would be just like the old bastard to be so bloody impressed with himself for thinking he'd been proven right once again. He always did fancy himself as being right in everything. 

Ron felt Snape's eyes follow him when he turned away, sick at the sight of his former Potions Master, wishing he could be anywhere but here, but knowing that he had a job to do and he damn well was going to do it. 

"So you believe me now, do you?" 

Ron's answer was swift, and he made certain that Snape would feel the full impact of his words. 

"I believe nothing that comes out of your double-crossing mouth!" 

He saw Snape's shoulders come down, as if the gravity of defeat proved much too heavy. In that instant, part of Ron--a small, insignificant part he wanted to block out altogether--actually felt sorry for Snape. 

But not nearly sorry enough to keep him from what he'd come here to do. 

"I hate to shatter your little fantasy," Ron said, "but I didn't come back here because I had some sort of epiphany about what you told me. It was clever of you to try and hide behind Dumbledore's name, I'll give you that. But if you think for one second that mentioning him and telling me some ridiculous story about how he recruited you into this secret society is going to get me on your side, you're a great deal madder than I'd reckoned." 

To his surprise, Snape's mouth bent into a thin smile. 

"Already worked it all out, have you?" 

"No," Ron said, "not all of it. I still want answers. And this time you're going to give them to me." 

Snape stared back at him, then said, without a trace of emotion, "What do you want to know?" 

Ron didn't think he'd cooperate this quickly. He wondered if this had to be some kind of trick, but decided he'd take his chances anyway. 

"You said you'd been paying close attention to me for the last few months," he said. "I want to know what you meant." 

"I meant that I had been reading about you in the _Daily Prophet._ Listening to what wizards had to say about you. You're quite famous now, you know-" 

"Why?" 

Snape gave Ron a maddening grin, as if to tell him that the answer was as obvious as could be. 

"You are the Ministry's star Auror," he said. "I knew I'd have to keep my eye on you." 

This was just getting more and more cryptic by the second, and Ron's patience had begun to wear thin once again. 

Then something switched in Snape's eyes, a kind of resignation, and Ron could swear that there was a crack--however tiny and imperceptible it seemed--in the walls Snape had put up all around himself. He seemed almost... vulnerable. 

"They sent you," he said, "didn't they?" 

The question took Ron by surprise and unnerved him. 

"I don't know what the hell you're on about." 

Ron always was a bad liar, but he knew he'd been particularly atrocious just then. He tore his eyes away as guilt set in, making his cheeks burn. 

"Lying was never your strong suit, Weasley." 

Ron whirled around at him, using his full height to tower over him, though Snape did not appear to be the least bit intimidated. 

"Damn you, Snape! I didn't come here to play your bloody mind games!" 

"Then what did you come here for?" 

The question was direct and held no pretense. Ron shouldn't have been hesitant to answer it, but he was. 

Gathering what composure he could, he looked Snape straight in the eyes and said, "I came here to see you pay for what you've done." 

Snape closed his eyes momentarily, then bowed his head. Ron didn't know what to make of the gesture, but kept up his guard, waiting for Snape to make the next move or at least say something. 

"You still think I'm not telling you the truth," he said at last. 

Ron let out an incredulous laugh. 

"What, that you were working under Dumbledore's orders?" he said. "That you weren't really helping those Death Eaters kill all those people, that you were really there to bring down Voldemort-" 

"You're not afraid to say his name." 

"No," Ron said, "I'm not." 

"All the others are. Everyone in the Ministry. You're the only one who dares to say his name out loud." 

"What's your point?" 

Snape didn't answer straight away, but his stare burned into Ron's skull, as if it were branding itself. Ron almost looked away, but Snape only held the gaze, as if daring him to keep looking in his eyes. 

"You know he's gaining in power, Weasley." 

"I don't want to hear this-" 

"You _know_ he is!" he said. "He's waited eight years. I've held him back for eight years, but he will not wait any longer, do you understand that?" 

"What I understand," Ron said, leaning over him, "is that you have been with him all this time, and God knows what you've helped him do-" 

"Damn it, open your eyes!!" 

Ron looked back at him, almost saying something, but deciding not to at the last minute. 

"You see what's happening, I know you do. You see all the signs. If he's not stopped soon, he will tear our world apart again!" 

Ron sniffed indignantly. "Well, if that's the case, why don't you stop him?" 

"Because I can't do it alone!" 

"Really." 

"Do you actually think those Muggle attacks would have happened if I could have done something in my power to prevent it? Do you think I wanted to see those people be killed?" 

Ron had no answer for him, but he could see the realisation begin to set in Snape's eyes. 

"You do, don't you?" he said, almost in defeat. "You think I wanted all of that to happen." 

"Why should I believe anything you have to say?" 

"Well then, I suppose time will show which one of us is right." 

"Reckon so." 

Ron couldn't do this. He couldn't stay any longer and keep doing this. Damn Fudge and his confession! If he wanted Snape's admission of guilt so badly, then he could come down here and get it himself as far as Ron was concerned. 

He strode over to the bars and banged on them hard with his fist. 

"Guard! Guard!!" 

"Run away, that's it." 

"What do you want from me??" 

Snape's eyes were almost... sincere. 

"Your help." 

All Ron could do was let out a laugh. Maybe he finally had gone insane, because he was actually willing to listen to the bastard now. What else did he have to lose at this point? 

"Help me escape from here." 

Ron looked back at him in disbelief. 

"You're bloody mad," he muttered. "You really are off your head-" 

"Join me. I can't take him down alone, but together we can do it. Dumbledore would have agreed that you-"

"Don't you _dare_ say his name!" 

"Damn it, Weasley, use your head for once!!" 

Ron wanted to get up and leave, but he couldn't. He couldn't move from his spot. 

"He's beginning to question my loyalty," Snape said quietly. "There are Death Eaters who are starting to get suspicious--rumblings about whose side I'm really on. This mission is in danger if I don't do something, and you're the only one who can help." 

"How?" Ron said. "How exactly do I help you?" 

Snape let out a breath. "Become a Death Eater." 

Blood rang in Ron's ears. He couldn't have heard what he'd just heard. The man was insane. Absolutely, without a doubt, insane. 

"The Ministry's top Auror. Harry Potter's best friend, no less. Just think of how Voldemort will reward my loyalty for bringing him such a prize." 

"So that's it, then," Ron said. "I'm a _prize_ you're to deliver. Damn you, Snape! You're not going to use me to help him-" 

"You can't catch him the traditional way," Snape said. "You know that. It's the only way, Weasley. If you want to destroy him once and for all, it's the only way." 

"No!" 

"Yes! You know I'm right." 

"You're lying!! You're lying to me right now, you bastard!" 

Snape simply leaned his head back against the wall, but kept his eyes trained on Ron's. 

"If you have to convince yourself of that to make yourself feel better, then go right ahead. But you know I'm telling you the truth. And you know you can't afford to let this chance slip away." 

Ron wanted to throw out every curse at him. He deserved it, every single one. But in the end, Ron came up all too empty. And he knew there was nothing left for him to fight with. 

"Tell me why I should believe you." 

Snape only smiled, a smile that sent a chill into Ron's marrow. 

"Because if you don't," he said, "there will be nothing to stop Voldemort. And Harry Potter will be the one to pay the price." 

He paused just long enough to let Ron absorb the impact of his words, and then he leveled the final blow. 

"Do you really want to take that chance?" 


	6. Chapter 6: What Really Matters

_ Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I attempting to make a profit. This is all for pure entertainment's sake! Hope you enjoy! _

Author's note: because if the content of this chapter, I can not post this chapter here. If you wish to read it, please go to www.checkmated.com. Thanks. 


	7. Chapter 7: Reason Enough

Author's Note: all due to an incident with ff.net, I no longer wish to host my fics here. I will be taking down my fics shortly as soon as I back them all up, but you will be able to find ALL my fics (including the ones I don't have archived here) on www.checkmated.com. 

Those of you who have been following this fic and have been reviewing, thank you so much. I appreciate it so much. I hope you will continue to follow it on Checkmated. Thanks.


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